


Tales that Dead Men Tell

by EmynIthilien



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Fake Deaths, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Missing Scenes, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 03:52:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12719112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmynIthilien/pseuds/EmynIthilien
Summary: Stannis tries to win the throne by saving the kingdom, all while thinking about dead men.  Takes place starting with Stannis courting the Northern mountain clans inA Dance with Dragons.





	Tales that Dead Men Tell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Siamesa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siamesa/gifts).



> This story was written for the 16th round of got_exchange, using the following prompt: Stannis trying to charm the Mountain clans. Bonus angst promptl: Stannis trying to charm the Mountain clans shortly after receiving the news that Davos is "dead.”
> 
> I hope you enjoy this, Siamesa! I’m a huge fan of your stories, especially your tale where Stannis gets to train his own dragon.

“When rumors fly, when false tales are being told, be the storyteller.”  
Uthred of Bebbanburg, _The Flamebearer_ by Bernard Cornwell (part of the _Last Kingdom/Saxon Tales_ series)

 

“…and you should have even more luck convincing the men of clan Flint to fight with you. My father’s grandmother was a Flint, and they have always been loyal to the Starks. Win Old Flint to your side, along with Big Bucket the Wull, and you’ll have three thousand men marching with you. Just be sure to _ask_ rather than _command_ them.”

“You forget that I am not a Stark, Lord Snow. And the rest of your father’s bannermen seem to have little love for me. It better be worth it if I am to traverse goat paths on your word, your word that I will raise an army large enough to defeat the Boltons and prove to the realm that its rightful king is not finished.”

King Stannis Baratheon and Lord Commander Jon Snow were standing on either side of a table covered with maps. The maps detailed the lands south of the Wall and east of the Bay of Ice, mountainous lands ruled by the northern mountain clans. A number of days ago Stannis hadn’t been aware that such people existed, but then again Stannis hadn’t been aware that White Walkers existed either until he answered the Night’s Watch’s call for aid. _I told Snow that the enemy I was born to fight was beyond the Wall_. But Stannis’ men were getting restless at Castle Black, and they needed battle to keep their focus. _And I will never take the throne that is mine by rights if I don’t win the North_. Snow had just provided Stannis with a battle strategy and potential source of men to do just that, which was more than Stannis could say for all his lords and knights combined. Tonight, the two of them were again hashing out that strategy and going over the logistics of travel.

Snow frowned and scratched his chin. “As I said, the mountain clansmen will likely be honored to be visited in person by the king, as they haven’t seen one since King Torrhen Stark. And mentioning that you aim to destroy the Greyjoys and Boltons won’t hurt either. The Greyjoys constantly raid their lands from the seas, and the Boltons have dared to declare themselves the lords of Winterfell after murdering my brother Robb with the help of the Freys.”

Snow idly traced flaking ink paths on the maps, the parchment old and cracking in places. His tone of voice was calm on the surface, but only a fool would fail to miss the anger and grief that raged beneath it. _I’ve felt those same emotions myself_ , thought Stannis. _First with watching my parents drown. There was no one to wreak vengeance on, though, save perhaps the High Septon who said that I needed to pray and have more faith. I gave up on his monstrous gods then and there._

“March with me and say that yourself.” Stannis crossed his arms, all but commanding Snow to look at him. “March with me as Jon Stark, the Lord of Winterfell and Eddard Stark’s last living son.”

A flash of longing shot through Snow’s eyes, but it was gone as quick as it came. Stannis had lost count of the number of times he had offered the Snow that name and title. But every time the boy had stubbornly refused, and Stannis knew that he would refuse yet again.

“The Night’s Watch takes no part.”

“But you want to.” _Just say yes, Snow. Admit that you want to destroy your family’s murderers and restore the North more than I ever will. Only a fool would stay on a block of ice for the rest of his days_. Still, for all his preaching on the neutrality of the Night’s Watch, Snow had given Stannis invaluable advice and potentially saved him from slaughter at the Dreadfort. _I need more men like him at my side, men who will tell me hard truths regardless of what I might like to hear._

“I am the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch,” said Snow, the tone of his voice final and his mouth now set in a thin line. “My wants don’t matter now that I’ve said my vows.”

Stannis waved the words away, bending over to study the maps once again. Marching armies along the Kingsroad was hard enough in summer, and he was trying to calculate how long it would take to get his force of fifteen hundred men across _goat tracks_ with winter on the horizon. Hopefully his supply train could make the journey, but if carts couldn’t be used it was going to be a long journey indeed.

The door to Snow’s solar creaked open, letting in a gust of cold air.

“Lord Snow,” squeaked a round-faced steward with squinting eyes. “And Your Grace. A message from King’s Landing.”

Snow looked up at that, his eyebrows raised. “King’s Landing?”

The steward held out a small roll of parchment sealed with golden wax. Snow took it and cracked the wax, flattening the parchment on his desk.

“Well?” asked Stannis. “What news from the latest usurper?”

Snow looked hesitant to say. _If you truly call me king then you have no reason to withhold such information from me. No doubt you keep your secrets like I do mine, but it benefits us both to know what the Lannisters and their thralls are up to_. Snow’s hesitance didn’t last long, however, and he cleared his throat to read the message.

“King Tommen demands that I aid you no longer, as the Night’s Watch is supposed to take no part in the affairs of the realm.” Stannis snorted as Snow continued to read. “If I do not expel you and your army from the Wall in a fortnight, he will cease his generous supplies of food and men. He also…” Snow paused, his eyes going wide.

“Yes? What else does the boy have to say?”

“There is a message for you too.” Snow reluctantly held out the scrap of parchment, his scarred hand shaking. Stannis took it, squinting to read the crabbed maester’s writing.

_Dragonstone and Storm’s End are lost to you, Stannis Baratheon, as is your smuggler. Lord Wyman Manderly recently executed your onion knight and is displaying his head and mangled hand on the gates of White Harbor. In return for his loyalty, the Crown has released a number of hostages—including Ser Wylis Manderly, Lord Manderly’s last living son._

Stannis didn’t know how long he stared at those words, a deafening silence ringing in his ears as all thoughts of the mountain clansmen left. _The Lannisters are just trying to frighten me by spinning a web of lies. Fearful men turn into cowards, and cowards are too weak to stand and fight_. But something about those words made Stannis pause. _The Lannisters know that I sent Ser Davos to White Harbor to treat with Lord Manderly_. There could be spies in the city and the Merman’s Court, certainly. But Lord-Too-Fat could just as easily have turned his cloak in order to save his son. _What is one envoy against the life of a son?_ Stannis would never know as he would likely never have a son, but if he had to sacrifice a stranger to save his daughter’s life?

The parchment became a crumpled ball in the blink of an eye, and Stannis was prepared to hurl it into the fireplace when he remembered that Snow was in the room. Snow, of course, was looking at him warily, unsure whether he should say anything. Stannis looked back at him, narrowing his eyes. _Don’t you dare give me any words of pity, Snow. You’re the last person I need them from._

“Lies,” Stannis declared. Loudly.

“Aye, Your Grace.”

It occurred to Stannis that Snow might want to keep the message, but he couldn’t stop himself from crushing the parchment and the damnable golden seal with _his_ stag impressed upon it even more. Suddenly, something wet pressed against Stannis’ hand. Snow’s giant white beast had touched his snout to Stannis’ hand, a sorrowful look in its red eyes. Instead of snarling at the direwolf to leave him be, Stannis found himself carding his fingers through soft white fur, wondering when his breathing had become so erratic.

“I leave in the morning, Lord Snow,” said Stannis, trying his best to dismiss King Tommen’s message. _Lies, all of it. When my work here in the North is done I will give the Lannisters the justice that they deserve_. “If the army that you promised me isn’t in the mountains, I’ll make sure your head is put on a spike.”

Snow didn’t take that as a threat at all—in fact, the corners of his mouth flicked upward in a smile.

“Then I look forward to hearing of your victory.”

~

The only positive thing about the trek from the Wall to the lands of the mountain clans was that the goat tracks had been made by very fat goats. Goats as fat as small mammoths, to be precise. Stannis’ men grumbled all the same, and he was tempted to shout that not every road could be the Kingsroad. It took days to crest the first mountain pass on the horizon, and beyond that were still more mountains. _Mountains beyond mountains, how am I not surprised?_

The Night’s Watch guides provided by Snow said little and less, which suited Stannis just fine. They would take Stannis to the heart of the Flint lands, and from there he would be on his own.

“Lord Snow wants to remind you that the Night’s Watch will take no part in your war,” a ranger named Pines told Stannis.

“I respect the sacred neutrality of the Night’s Watch,” said Stannis. “You can assure little King Tommen that Lord Snow has done his duty and expelled me from the Wall.” _Right into a place where I’ll hopefully double the size of my army._

The march came to a halt when a small party of clansmen dressed in furs greeted them. Stannis met with the lead rider, making sure to wear his fiery red crown.

“Who in the name of the Old gods are you?”

Stannis clenched his reins, sitting up straight in his saddle and trying his best not to feel slighted. _I should not expect to be recognized by men who haven’t seen a king since before Aegon’s Conquest_. But he still felt slighted, nevertheless.

“I am Stannis Baratheon, First of my Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.”

The fur-covered men looked at Stannis blankly.

“You’re a king, eh?” said one of them.

Stannis ground his teeth.

“Wasn’t a warrior named Robert king?” said another.

_Of course. Everyone always remembers Robert_. “My _brother_ King Robert Baratheon was murdered by Queen Cersei Lannister. He fathered no trueborn heirs, making me the next king by rights.”

Stannis was met with more blank looks, and he could feel the stares of his men at his back. No one offered to say anything, none of his knights who were all too eager to speak up when it came to battle strategy. _Didn’t any of you learn diplomacy? Or did you just listen to your lessons on swordplay?_

“I wish to speak with your lord. Is one of you Lord Flint?”

The clansmen conversed among themselves until one of them lowered his hood to reveal a hard face with a matted beard. “Old Flint is my father. I’m Artos Flint, his youngest son. He likes to talk.”

Old Flint _did_ like to talk, and Stannis tried his best to figure out what the old man wanted to hear. _Davos would’ve known. He has a gift for reading men. If only I had never sent him from my side_. The opening pleasantries went as well with the father as with the son, though this time Stannis was seated in a hall—albeit one that would barely qualify as a hall in the South.

After Stannis had taken bread and salt and his position as the king had been established, he didn’t waste any time in stating the reason for his visit.

“I ask you to fight for me.” _There you go, Snow, I said_ ask _instead of_ command. “The realm has been ravaged because the Lannisters stole the throne and have crowned one bastard born of incest after another.”

“I’ve never heard of the Lannisters. If that’s who you’re fighting, why are you in the North? Don’t you have rich lords in high castles who can give you armies?” asked Old Flint.

“Most of those men in high castles are deaf to my call, or else they’re being threatened by the men in palaces who slew your liege lord Eddard Stark.” The effect of Eddard Stark’s name had a powerful effect on the room, so Stannis pressed on. “The Night’s Watch called for aid, so I sailed my army to the Wall to stop a wildling invasion. Lord Commander Jon Snow, son of Eddard Stark, was grateful for my help and sang your praises.”

Old Flint smiled. Multiple teeth were missing. “Lord Snow should’ve come himself. I would’ve liked to have heard him sing!”

Questions about Snow were shouted from the men behind Old Flint: “Is his direwolf as big and vicious as the rumors say? I heard he’s the spitting image of Lord Stark? He carries a Valyrian steel sword, doesn’t he?”

_Forget the tree gods, these clansmen worship the Starks. Jon Snow will be my Stark, whether he wants too not_. “Lord Snow naturally wanted to come, but he has duties at the Wall. He told me of how the Ironborn sacked Deepwood Motte and took Lord Glover’s family hostage. They’re raiding with impunity along the western shores. You might think that this isn’t your war, but soon enough you’ll be surrounded by enemies. The North is bleeding, and together we can staunch those wounds—expel the squids and slit the throats of the Freys and Boltons who are calling themselves the rightful lords of Winterfell.”

Stannis was standing, and all eyes were on him. Robert always knew how to inspire men, knew the words to say to get them to charge head first into an oncoming cavalry charge. Such things had never come naturally to him. He was no gifted orator, and he hated being the center of attention in the first place. Old Flint took a long swallow of something from a horn, his eyes never leaving Stannis’ face. He made a show of belching and wiping his mouth before gesturing for a servant to refill his horn.

_This isn’t going well._

Slowly, very slowly, Old Flint’s grin with all of its missing teeth made another appearance. This time the grin held no mirth and looked rather savage.

_This really isn’t going well._

“It’s been a long time since Clan Flint has gone to war. I think it’s best to get one in before winter comes.”

_Then again…_

“Have a horn of mead and feast with us this evening, King Stannis. Tomorrow we can talk more of war.”

_Tomorrow?_ Stannis opened his mouth to protest but quickly closed it as Snow’s words echoed in his head. _Eat their bread and salt, drink their ale, listen to their pipers, praise the beauty of their daughters and the courage of their sons, and you’ll have their swords_. It had taken him long enough to get here. He could wait another night. _Let’s hope I don’t have to drink an entire horn of mead._

“Veera, a drink for the king!” Old Flint gestured to a woman standing in the corner. He also shouted to some other girls to present themselves to Stannis. “You’ve already met one of my sons, so it’s only fair that you get to meet my daughters!”

“Your daughters are pretty,” said Stannis stiffly without looking at them.

“Care to take one for a bride?”

_Now_ Stannis looked at the girls, though it was hard to tell what they really looked like in the poor light of the hall. All of them had dark hair, that much Stannis determined. “I’ve already taken a woman to wife and said vows.”

“Your queen must be pretty, then.”

“No,” said Stannis automatically.

“His Grace speaks true,” Ser Justin Massey piped up in what he probably thought was a helpful tone. He had an easy smile. “Queen Selyse is unfortunately…”

“Ser Justin,” interrupted Stannis. “Weren’t you supposed to be polishing my armor?”

Ser Justin smiled, of course, and he had enough sense to know when he was being dismissed. _I value the truth, yes, but I will not suffer my wife to be mocked. I have a duty to protect her even if I do not enjoy her company._

“You will excuse my knight,” Stannis said to Old Flint. “While my queen might not be as pretty as _your_ daughters, _I_ have a daughter who will always be the most beautiful woman in the world to me.” _Shireen is not a comely child, even without the greyscale scars that mar her face. But she’s intelligent, kind, and has wisdom beyond her years_. Those qualities mattered more to Stannis, and he had seen enough of the women of Robert’s court to know that Shireen was more beautiful than Cersei Lannister could ever hope to be.

A horn of mead was raised up in a toast. Stannis followed suit, careful not to slosh any of the liquid over the rim.

“We all think that, don’t we! To beautiful daughters!”

~

Stannis repeated the same song and dance with the other mountain clans. Old Brandon Norrey literally wanted Stannis to dance with his daughter. He obliged, of course, though he had to think hard about when he had last danced with anyone. _Did I dance with Selyse at our wedding? I can’t remember anything about that horrid occasion except for how Robert humiliated me and proved that he had an utter lack of self control_. Torren Liddle, The Liddle of clan Liddle, announced that he wouldn’t give Stannis any men unless he defeated his three sons in single combat—for the Liddles only followed strength. Stannis had ground his teeth, again obliging. One son surrendered at seeing Lightbringer’s flames, another tripped while swinging an axe at him, and the third put up a tough fight before Stannis’ conditioning and well-honed determination won out.

Big Bucket the Wull was the hardest of the clan chiefs to convince. He was impressed that Old Flint stood at Stannis’ side, but he wanted proof that Stannis was capable of doing what he promised.

“My lands are more vulnerable to the Ironborn raids than any other clan. Do you know anything about fighting at sea?”

_Finally, a question I can readily answer_. “I know some things. I smashed Victarion Greyjoy’s Iron Fleet during the Greyjoy Rebellion.” Stannis went into detail on exactly how that naval battle was carried out, and all the clan warriors were enraptured with his story. _If only Robert had been that interested in my feats. All he cared about during the Greyjoy Rebellion was getting drunk and praising Ned Stark_. Stannis was sure to drop Ned Stark and Jon Snow’s names as often as he could, which made as good a rallying cry as any—especially when word came trickling in that Ramsay Snow had married Arya Stark, for now there was a Stark to save! _Ned Stark was no friend of mine, but they don’t need to know that._

Deepwood Motte was an easy castle to capture, gaining Stannis the support of House Glover and House Mormont in the process. Asha Greyjoy, in chains on her hands and knees, begged Stannis to let her fight for him, but he brushed her requests away. _Ally with a Greyjoy and I lose most of my army._

As a blizzard hit Stannis’ army on his march to Winterfell, the mountain clansmen and northmen laughed about the weather while his southerners died of the cold. He did nothing to stop them from praying in weirwood groves encountered on the way even when some of Melisandre’s staunchest followers complained of heathen gods.

“Do you think my whole campaign is about converting men to R’hllor?” Stannis angrily admonished a knight brave enough to express his concerns. “They gods a man prays to mean nothing to me as long as he _fights_. Pray at your nightfires, let the tree worshipers hug their trees, and let the followers of the Seven be in peace.”

Often, Stannis’ thoughts would turn to Davos, especially when it seemed like the snowy miles to Winterfell would never end. Was he dead as the Lannisters claimed? Was that the reason why Lord Manderly never replied to Stannis’ demand of fealty? He tried his best to dismiss them, but still they ate at him. _I do not have time to grieve for Davos. I shed all of my tears the day I watched my parents drown._

~

Winterfell was also an easy castle to capture, in part because Bolton was so despised that no house was willing to stand by him. The Freys were led to the frozen lakes that Stannis’ army had overfished, and the screams as their heavy horse fell through the ice was a sweeter sound then any singer Stannis had ever heard. Ser Marlon Manderly, leader of the White Harbor troops that had ridden out with the Freys, bent the knee to Stannis at his tiny tower three days ride from Winterfell.

“My lord instructs me to do whatever you ask.”

“Whatever I ask?” said Stannis. _There’s much and more that I wish of Lord-Too-Fat_. “I will speak with Lord Manderly when I’ve taken Winterfell, as we have unfinished business. In the meantime…”

In the meantime, Ser Marlon rode ahead with Lightbringer, a plan to present the sword and a tale of Stannis’ grisly death to Lord Bolton while Stannis’ army scavenged the Frey dead for enough standards and insignia to disguise themselves. Tattered standards of the twin towers allowed them though the gates of Winterfell. The only casualties were the remaining Freys who fell for the ploy and any Bolton man at arms who dared fight. Roose Bolton and Ramsay Snow, of course, were executed. The northern lords and mountain clansmen would accept nothing less than a beheading in front of the Winterfell heart tree, the blood being eagerly drunk by the roots of the mighty weirwood.

~

At long last, Stannis got to speak with Lord Manderly. He demanded a public meeting in Winterfell’s great hall, for Stannis wanted all to hear his reply when he accused him of conspiring with the Lannisters. And murder.

Lord Manderly looked worse for wear, which gave Stannis no small amount of satisfaction. Thick bandages were wrapped around his throat. A few of his multiple chins had been sacrificed to save him from having his throat slit by a Frey. No move was made by him to bend the knee, though he was gracious when he addressed Stannis:

“Your Grace. I commend you for ridding us of Lord Bolton and bastard son. Monsters, both of them. And the Freys.”

“Your _Grace_?” Stannis crossed his arms. “I find it passing strange that you honor me with a kingly title when you murdered my Lord Hand. He was sent to you in peace as an envoy, and he did not deserve such a fate.”

“I did not murder Lord Davos,” replied Lord Manderly in a calm voice.

“You didn’t have the strength to swing the sword yourself?”

“Lord Davos is on a mission to Skaagos with Theon Greyjoy’s squire to find one of Lord Eddard Stark’s sons. If he is successful, then White Harbor and its ships and coffers are all yours.”

Stannis laughed. He laughed so hard that he thought he was going mad. _Well, not as mad as Theon Greyjoy, who’s now a wreck of a man besides_. It took an enormous amount of effort to catch his breath, but it took no effort at all for Stannis to give Lord Manderly a scathing reply. _I have not patience for fools and even less for fools with no logic._

“Eddard Stark and all of his trueborn sons were brutally murdered, with plenty of witnesses. Unless you’re looking for his bastard son, who’s the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch? The usurper boy king Joffrey called for Eddard Stark’s head in front of a crowd of thousands. The Freys murdered Robb Stark at a wedding and switched his head with his direwolf’s, something all the Freys can attest to. Bran and Rickon Stark were killed by Theon Greyjoy, who hung their bodies from the Walls of this very castle and shouted his deed with pride across the realm! In the names of all the old gods and the new, how do you have evidence to the contrary?”

“I simply do. I swear on my honor that I have never ordered the death of an innocent man. Only the guilty ones.”

Stannis ground his teeth. There was much he would like to say to Lord Manderly, starting with the fact that he didn’t really care about _honor_ as long as he found out if Davos was dead or not. _If you’re alive like Lord-I’m-Trying-To-Find-A-Trueborn-Stark-Boy claims, then I’m keeping you by my side. Never again will I let you be used as a pawn by lords I do not trust._

“I beg you to humor me, Your Grace.”

“ _Humor_ you?” Stannis was tempted to laugh again. “There is nothing humorous about this situation.”

“My army did help you vanquish the Freys and the Boltons.”

“I am aware of that fact, my lord,” said Stannis grudgingly. “Though I daresay your unwavering loyalty had little to do with it.”

Lord Manderly didn’t seem perturbed by Stannis’ words at all, folding his hands over his large belly. _He’s either telling me the truth and knows he has nothing to fear, or else he’s one of the greatest mummers in Westeros._

“Say I do humor you. If Lord Davos is alive and finds this Stark boy, who will confirm his identity?”

The smile that Lord Manderly gave brought to mind Old Flint’s savage missing-tooth grin. “His direwolf, of course.”

“What if the wolf’s dead? The North won’t stand for a fake Stark.”

“This is where Eddard Stark’s bastard son comes in,” said Lord Manderly. “You have made common cause with Lord Commander Jon Snow at the Wall, and he helped you rally the mountain clans to your cause. He will swear to the boy’s identity. Are you satisfied with _that_ tale of mine?”

Stannis gave a stiff nod. _Now we finally have a set plan_. “If Lord Davos appears with a boy that can be confirmed as one of Eddard Stark’s sons by Jon Snow, then I will spare your life. If Lord Davos appears with no Stark, I will spare your life. Furthermore, if I obtain incontrovertible proof that Lord Davos was not murdered on your orders, I will still spare your life.” _Though I will not forgive you_. “Are my terms acceptable?”

“Yes, Your Grace. However, there is a slight complication.”

“A complication.”

“Lord Snow might be dead.”

Stannis closed his eyes, rubbing at his temples with his fingers.

“How do you know this, pray tell?”

“A man named Bowen Marsh sent a raven from the Wall. He told of Snow’s execution for treason.”

Bowen Marsh. Stannis remembered the man. He was one of the lickspittles who championed Janos Slynt to be elected Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. _He’s as much deserving of my trust as the Lannisters._

“Lies,” declared Stannis. Loudly.

“Aye, Your Grace.”

Without a second glance at Lord-I-Did-Not-Murder-Lord-Davos, Stannis stalked out of the great hall and made for the godswood. He needed solitude and silence, and no one dared to disturb him. For a long time he sat on a log in front of the heart tree, wondering. _I’ve won the North by battle and will turn back to the Wall to fight the White Walkers_. That much was clear, but Stannis still felt so uncertain. _Which men are dead and which aren’t?_ His parents were dead. Robert was dead. Renly was dead. Maester Cressen was dead. He did not want Davos and Jon Snow to be dead, but with his luck winter might come and go without knowing their fates. _Is it worth winning the Iron Throne if everyone I’ve ever cared for or respected is dead?_ The logical answer was yes, for a king was responsible for the entire realm regardless of his individual wants or desires. _Shireen is still alive, at least. I haven’t received any news of her death yet._

~

Another moon came and went before finally, _finally_ did Stannis receive news that he had long been hoping for. A bedraggled raved carrying a parchment sealed with black wax arrived at Winterfell, and it was immediately delivered to Stannis. Instead of Snow being executed by Bowen Marsh for treason, Bowen Marsh and a handful of accomplices were executed for treason by Snow. _I swung the sword myself, just as I did with Janos Slynt_ , wrote Snow.

Stannis believed the message, and he believed that Bowen Marsh was dead.

Another raven arrived, carrying another parchment sealed with black wax. But this black wax had the impression of a _hand_ stamped on it. Stannis held his breath when he cracked it. The words written on the parchment were small in number, and they looked like they had been scratched by a small child learning his first letters. Stannis read them through so many times that he soon had them memorized:

_Your Grace,_

_I write to inform you that I have done as you ordered and won Lord Manderly and White Harbor to your cause. His price was that I find a trueborn Stark. I found Rickon Stark and his direwolf on Skaagos, and currently we are at the Wall. Lord Commander Jon Snow swears on his life that Rickon Stark is who he says he is. I am glad to hear of your victories, and I pray that you do not regret making me a lord despite everything._

_Ser Davos Seaworth, Admiral of the Narrow Sea and Hand of the King_

Stannis believed the message. He was brought back to the stormy night on Dragonstone when he had named Davos his Hand. _Then we will make new lords_. He had his incontrovertible proof that Davos wasn’t dead, for dead men couldn’t write.

Stannis immediately gave the order for his army to march to the Wall. The dead were waiting for him there, after all.

~

Stannis was met at Castle Black by two massive direwolves, one white and one black. A little boy no older than six was chasing them around the courtyard, and he was oblivious when all the men around him fell silent and stood at attention.

“Rickon!” called out Jon Snow. Stannis had never seen him happier. “This is when you bow.”

“But you’re the Lord Commander and I never have to bow to you!”

“This is King Stannis. Even I bow to him.”

Rickon Stark pulled a face, and in response Snow’s direwolf picked him up by the collar with his teeth and deposited him in front of his brother who had already taken a knee.

“Your Grace,” greeted Snow, “May I present my brother, Lord Rickon Stark of Winterfell, along with his direwolf, Shaggydog.”

Stannis nodded at Rickon, but all his attention was focused on a common-looking man standing behind Snow. The man had muddy brown hair and was wearing a green salt-stained cloak. There was nothing remarkable about him on the surface, but still Stannis couldn’t drag his eyes away. Before the man could bow or take a knee to him, Stannis reached out a hand and placed it firmly on his shoulder.

“You have to stop this habit of dying on me, Ser Davos. First you get burned alive by wildfire, and then you get beheaded.”

Davos gave him a tired smile. “I’d say the same thing about you, Your Grace. Ramsay Snow slew you after seven long days of battle.”

Stannis turned toward Snow. “What treason did you get executed for, Lord Snow?”

Instead of smiling like Davos, Snow simply stared at Stannis. His grey eyes had a haunted look.

“Rooms are prepared for you, Your Grace. Queen Selyse, Princess Shireen, and Lady Melisandre are waiting for you indoors.”

Stannis couldn’t tell if Snow was deliberately avoiding his question or simply had the need to get the required formalities out of the way. Still, it was expected of a king to greet his family, which he did after seeing that his men were settled. He then met with Davos and Lord Snow in Snow’s solar to discuss the events that had happened since he had last left the Wall. Over goblets of mulled wine and lemon water, Stannis learned of cannibals who rode unicorns on Skaagos, wildlings who were garrisoning castles along the Wall, speeches of vengeance, gold borrowed from the Iron Bank, and a poor, frightened girl who had been forced to masquerade as Arya Stark.

“I heard that both of you were dead. Thankfully, my enemies were lying to me as I expected.” It was easy now for Stannis to be confident, and he felt so relaxed that he wondered if his lemon water was mixed with something stronger. “I wonder how much of the realm believes us to be dead. It’s hard to know what information to trust anymore.”

“We could write to King Tommen and regale him with tales of the seven heavens and seven hells,” suggested Davos.

Snow looked at Davos strangely. “Those don’t exist.”

“When did you become such an authority on what happens after death, Lord Snow?” asked Stannis, only to watch Snow close his eyes and frantically open and close his sword hand. The white direwolf, who had been napping by the fireplace, suddenly rushed to his master’s side.

Stannis realized that he was missing something vital. Later, he would hear how the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch _had_ actually died—stabbed to death, to be precise. Bowen Marsh had spoken the truth after all, though he had forgotten to mention how Snow had miraculously walked out of his own funeral pyre with all his wounds healed. But for now Stannis simply waited for whatever madness that had possessed Snow to pass. When it did, Stannis was reminded of the insolent young man who had argued with him yet told him where to find an army.

“When did I become an authority on life after death? Why, when you were retaking my father’s castle and avenging my family’s murders.”

“I still recommend that we send a message full of lies to King’s Landing,” said Davos eventually. “An eye for an eye, a dragon for a dragon as the sayings go.”

_Lies and fake deaths. It would be nothing more than the Lannisters deserve_. “I disagree.”

Davos cocked his head, and Snow looked at him curiously.

“Why bother to lie when the truth is even more terrifying? Though perhaps a little exaggeration would not go amiss.” Stannis could feel a grin creep onto his face. “The dead are rising, Lord Davos, Lord Snow. There is a Stark in Winterfell again, and Azor Ahai resurrected his Lord Hand and won the North in a fiery battle. How does that sound?”

Snow and his direwolf soon left to see to their brothers, leaving Stannis alone with Davos for the first time in more moons than Stannis could count. Stannis stood up and walked to a window, hands clasped behind his back.

“We have work to do, my Lord Hand. But before we start, there is one more thing I must ask of you.”

“Anything, Your Grace.”

_What have I done to earn such loyalty?_ “You are not to leave my side again. That is, of course, if that is your will.” _I cannot logically fault you if you left, never to have anything to do with me after all the pain and suffering I’ve caused you. Not only have you almost died in my service twice, but four of your sons have truly died._

“I’m your man, and I will always do as you please,” Davos’ voice was firm, and only now did Stannis turn around and face him.

“I do not have time to grieve for you if you die again, and…” Stannis trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

“Stannis.” Davos placed a hand on _his_ shoulder this time—his left hand with the fingertips missing. “There is nothing wrong with grief, even for kings.”

Stannis let himself lean into the touch. He still didn't know what to say. _Is that another hard truth? That grief doesn't make us weak?_

“Now, are there any new lords you would like to make?”

END

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. On misinformation: George R. R. Martin seems to get a lot of flak for using the trope of “fake deaths” or characters coming back to life too often. As of _Dance with Dragons_ , only two dead characters have come back to life (Beric Dondarrion and Catelyn Stark, but they’re shadows of their former selves) and it’s assumed that Jon Snow will also come back to life. The rest of these deaths are staged by other characters trying to spread rumors, and misinformation in a land where communication is haphazard can be a powerful weapon. Battles can be won or lost, lives can be saved or ended, and character motivations can change drastically depending on what the truth is thought to be.
> 
> The HBO show, unfortunately, does not use misinformation or plain old realistic time frames for getting news between characters. (Unless it suits the screenwriters.) That’s how Maester Aemon at Castle Black can know what Dany is doing in Essos in the same episode, how Tywin Lannister apparently knows all about Dany’s dragons, Dany knew exactly when to fly beyond the Wall and save Jon and company, and the list of examples can go on and on. This frustrates me because it simply isn’t logical, even for the fantasy world GRRM created! The quote I used at the beginning of this story is from a series set in the late 800s England, where the speed that information can and can’t travel greatly affects the plot and ultimately makes it all the more enjoyable.


End file.
